Forever And Ever And Ever
by Expecting Rain
Summary: When a tragedy sends Mary Lennox and Colin Craven back to Misselthwaite Manor for the first time in years, Mary must deal with her confusing cousin, her uncertain place in the Craven family, and Dickon.
1. Good News and Bad News

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters & settings belong to Frances Hodgson Burnett.

I wish I got paid for this, but I don't.

**A/N: **This fanfic is already finished and I'm in the process of revising it, so I should be able to update pretty frequently. It will be about eight chapters long. Reviews would be very very much appreciated!!

**Forever and Ever and Ever**

**Chapter One: Good News and Bad News**

There was great excitement at the Bradford Academy for Young Ladies that Monday morning, for one of its students, seventeen-year-old Cecelia Greenwood, had gone to visit her family in the country last Friday evening and reappeared three days later wearing a diamond ring!

The oldest form especially took notice, and several of Cecelia's five year-mates had to take care to mask their jealousy with excitement as they gasped and giggled over the ring.

"You must show us the photograph again after breakfast, Cece dear – now that you're engaged I'm sure he looks quite different!" exclaimed Annabelle Taylor, wrapping an arm around her friend.

"Oh, I wish I had a photograph of yesterday afternoon!" Cecelia said, looking proudly at her hand. "Richard was ever so handsome down on one knee – and even more so when I accepted!"

"If the engagement has changed his looks as much as it has changed yours, Cecelia, the photograph would hardly do him justice – you look so beautiful, and so happy."

"Thank you, Mary, you _are_ sweet!" Cecelia said, disentangling herself from Annabelle to wrap both arms around her best friend.

"Oh, look, here comes Mrs. Bell – maybe she heard your news, Cece!" said Emily Thompson.

The other girls looked up from Cecelia's diamond. Emily was right: the head mistress was heading their way; she made no greeting to any of the lower forms. However, Mrs. Bell's face looked even graver than usual, not the visage one wants to present to the newly affianced.

"Mrs. Bell, did you hear that Cecelia's engaged?" Eliza Henry ventured, but the headmistress gave Cecelia's finger only a passing glance.

"We're very happy for you, Miss Greenwood. Miss Lennox, I need to see you in my office immediately."

With a worried look at her friends, Mary left the dining room and followed Mrs. Bell down the hallway to her office. Once Mary was inside the room, Mrs. Bell closed the door and gestured for Mary to sit in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the desk.

"A boy brought this for you a few minutes ago," Mrs. Bell said, handing Mary a white envelope bearing, beneath a sweaty handprint, her name and the heading "URGENT."

Hesitantly, Mary pulled out the letter and began to read:

_Dear Mary,_

_I received news this morning from my uncle that Father passed away last night. It was sudden and quick; Dr. Craven thinks it was a heart attack. I am returning to Misselthwaite this afternoon and will arrive for you at one o'clock, if you wish to travel with me. Please send word back with the messenger._

_With love,_

_Your cousin,_

_Colin Craven_

"Bad news?" Mrs. Bell asked gently, and Mary was suddenly aware that her cheeks were wet. She had not realized she was crying.

"The letter is from my cousin," Mary said shakily. "My uncle passed away last night."

She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to break down in front of Mrs. Bell.

"I must return to Misselthwaite. My cousin writes that he will bring me with him if I send a message back. Is the boy still here?"

"He is waiting outside," Mrs. Bell said, looking at Mary with concern. "You may borrow some stationary of mine, if you wish."

"Thank you," Mary said, accepting the paper and pen Mrs. Bell handed her.

_Dear Colin,_

_What terrible news! Of course I will return to Misselthwaite as well. I will be ready at one o'clock._

She wanted to write something more, something that said that Colin was not alone, that she too had loved Archibald Craven deeply, that she would be there for him – but she could not think of how to put all this into words, so she simply signed it. Suddenly worried that the letter might seem rather frivolous without some sort of condolence, she reread it and decided that the tear-marks smudging the ink would be enough for Colin to understand. She folded the paper and handed it to Mrs. Bell.

"Will you give this to him, please? I must go pack."

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Bell said quietly. "I offer my condolences to you and your family."

"Thanks," Mary whispered, not trusting her voice, and retreated from the office as quickly as was proper.

Except for Mrs. Bell, everyone was in the dining room, so Mary ignored propriety and ran down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to the room she shared with Cecelia, where she collapsed on her bed, sobbing.

* * *

"Mary? Mary dear, what's wrong?"

Mary raised her head to see all five of her year-mates in her room; Cecelia was standing next to Mary by the bed. Was breakfast over already?

Mary sat up and wiped her face with the handkerchief Sarah Anderson offered. "My uncle's dead," she said thickly, and the girls gathered around her and cooed their condolences.

"Oh, poor Mary, he was your only relative left, wasn't he?" Annabelle asked, her voice dripping with sympathy.

Mary nodded, then shook her head. "There's Colin still," she said quietly. "I still have Colin."

The other girls exchanged glances. They had all met Colin: he and Mary would occasionally spend a Saturday together, and while Mary had repeatedly denied that there was anything between the two, the girls never believed her.

Mary stood up and went to her wardrobe. "I need to pack; Colin will be here at one to take me to Misselthwaite," she said, looking through her dresses in search of the darker ones.

"You can borrow my black dress, Mary," Cecelia offered, joining Mary at the wardrobe and waving at the other girls to leave; Mary heard the quiet snick of the door as it shut behind them. "And I'll help you pack, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Cece," Mary said, setting a dark green dress on her bed. "I'm sorry for ruining your special day."

"As long as you come to my wedding, I'll forgive you," Cecelia said, hugging Mary. Really, she was a good friend.

* * *

When one o'clock came, Mary was sitting with Mrs. Bell in the headmistress's office. Neither was talking: Mary was watching raindrops slide down the small window, and Mrs. Bell was watching Mary as if waiting for her to shatter into a million pieces.

Finally Mar heard a knock and muffled voices as Polly, one of the maids, answered the door. Not waiting for Mrs. Bell, Mary stood and walked out of the office to meet her cousin.

Colin was waiting for her. He was dressed entirely in black, which made his pale skin more noticeable than usual. The clothes seemed also to draw attention to Colin's huge gray eyes, which were bloodshot: he had obviously been crying.

Feeling tears welling up in her own eyes, Mary stepped forward to embrace her cousin. Colin clung to her tightly and for a moment Mary was reminded of the frightened little boy she used to sing to sleep.

"I didn't know you owned any black," Colin said quietly, releasing her.

"I don't; it's my roommate's, Cecelia's," Mary said, smiling sadly.

Colin nodded, not looking at her. "Is this your trunk?"

"Yes," Mary said. Two of the maids had brought it downstairs as soon as she finished packing.

Colin nodded again and gestured to the door. A man Mary had not noticed before entered the school and began to carry Mary's trunk out to the carriage she presumed was waiting outside.

"Allow me to offer my condolences, Mr. Craven," Mrs. Bell said: she had been watching the cousins for some time without saying a word, but now stepped forward determinedly to, no doubt, lay down some rules.

"Your condolences are accepted," Colin said briefly, not looking at her. Mary smiled slightly: Colin had never entirely lost his rajah-like behavior.

Unnerved by Colin's response, Mrs. Bell nevertheless pressed on. "As Miss Lennox's headmistress, I am responsible for her safety here and I must ask if you have provided an escort."

Colin frowned. "No, I had not thought of it, with everything else. Mary and I have both lost a father: is an escort really necessary? I assure you there will be no untoward behavior."

Mrs. Bell was shaking her head. "I really must insist."

"Very well; it makes no difference to me," Colin said. "However, we must hurry to Misselthwaite and I have no time to find an escort. If you provide one I will certainly reimburse you."

Mrs. Bell looked slightly affronted: Colin had spoken like a rajah again. She recovered quickly, though.

"I will send one of the maids, then. Polly!"

The girl started and blushed: she had been making eyes at the carriage driver.

"You will be accompanying Miss Lennox to Yorkshire. Go pack a bag, and be quick about it. You should return late tomorrow or early Wednesday, is that correct, Mr. Craven?"

"Yes," Colin said, giving her the briefest of glances.

The four of them – Mary, Colin, Mrs. Bell, and the driver – stood there until Polly returned three minutes later, breathing heavily and carrying a large black bag.

"Come, Mary, we must hurry," Colin said, making to leave.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Bell," Mary said hastily before following Colin and the driver out the door.

"Goodness, you were quite the rajah," she said quietly to Colin as the carriage began to move. She was sitting across from Colin, at the window; Poly was next to Mary and had already buried her nose in a five-penny romance novel.

"Yes, well, I don't like that woman," Colin said, turning his remarkable eyes on Mary. He had never quiet grown into those eyes – his mother's eyes, large and gray and rimmed with long black lashes – but Mary found them endearing, especially now when they looked so sad. If it had not been for Polly and propriety, she would have hugged Colin again.

"I _am_ sorry, Colin," she said instead, reaching across the aisle to take both his hands in hers. It was no difficulty: the carriage was small and their knees were nearly touching as it was.

"I am too," Colin said, squeezing her hands. "You don't need to offer your condolences, Mary; Father was as good as your father, too."

"I know," Mary said, feeling tears well up in her eyes again. It was true: Archibald Craven had shown her more kindness and love than either of her parents, who had died when she was nine. And Uncle Archie had started to be a real father to Colin soon after Mary came to Misselthwaite, so Mary was sure that if she was not quite as miserable as Colin was, she was very nearly there.

"Come here, Mary."

Colin sounded like a frightened little boy again, not a rajah, so without a glance at Polly, Mary stepped across the aisle to wrap herself in Colin's arms. She couldn't help herself: she cried - really cried, not the quiet proper tears, one or two from each eye, she had allowed herself in front of Mrs. Bell. She felt Colin's chest hitch and held onto him until both of them had calmed.

"I'm sorry," Mary said when Colin finally released her. She reached for her purse, for her handkerchief and pocket mirror, to clean herself up.

"Don't, Mary," Colin said tiredly, turning to the window to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. He didn't turn back to look at Mary, so she twined her fingers in his and watched Polly read her book.


	2. Misselthwaite Manor

**Forever and Ever and Ever**

**Chapter Two: Misselthwaite Manor**

The three companions spent most of their journey in silence: Mary and Colin were both embarrassed about their display of emotion, and Polly proved to be either very astute or simply deeply engrossed in her book. They drove until it was quite dark, then stopped at the nearest inn. Polly shared a room with Mary, but the maid either wanted to flirt with the driver or sensed that Mary wanted to be alone, and Mary was asleep by the time Polly returned to the room.

They woke early and continued on their journey, with Mary again sitting across from Colin. She did this not out of embarrassment or even propriety, but because she wanted to sit next to the window. It was not yet spring, so the heather would not be in bloom, but it had been years since she had been to Misselthwaite and she wanted to see the moor.

Sure enough, in the late afternoon the hedges and trees grew scarcer and scarcer until finally there were none; the horses began to move slowly uphill; and soon Mary saw the purplish growths of heather and gorse and broom. They were on the moor.

Mary opened the small carriage window and leaned in close, breathing in the cold air and listening to the wind rustle through the brush.

"What's that, Miss Lennox?" asked Polly, looking up from her book at last.

"That's Missel Moor," said Mary, closing her eyes and breathing in the air. "It doesn't look like much now, but in the spring and summer, when the heather's in bloom, it's beautiful."

"Nobody likes it much the first time they see it," Colin said kindly. Polly blushed and turned back to her book.

Colin leaned close to the window and inhaled. "I remember the first time I breathed moor air," he said quietly. "You made me do it."

Mary laughed aloud. "You told me to open the window because you wanted to hear golden trumpets! I had forgotten about that."

"I had forgotten how beautiful it is," Colin said, staring out the window. "It has been years since I was here."

"It will be good to see Misselthwaite again," Mary agreed quietly. "I only wish we were here for another reason."

Colin nodded once, still looking out the window, and reached across the aisle to take Mary's hands. They sat in silence, holding hands and looking at the moor, until they reached the manor.

Misselthwaite Manor was just like Mary remembered it, huge and gloomy and utterly loveable. Mrs. Medlock and Mr. Pitcher met them at the doorway, looking considerably older and wearing mourning clothes, but through their condolences Mary could hear the same ornery servants who had been so rude her first night at Misselthwaite. Dr. Craven, they told the cousins, was in the village speaking with the vicar, but would return soon. Mary went to "freshen up" before dinner as Colin fed and paid Polly and the carriage driver and sent them back to London. Mrs. Medlock had prepared several rooms, but Mary decided to stay in her old bedroom.

"Right, now, keep to your rooms and don't both Mr. Craven, and don't you forget that," Mary whispered to herself in remembrance as Mrs. Medlock and Pitcher deposited her trunk in the room and left without a word.

"Beg pardon, Miss Lennox?"

Mary spun around to see a young girl kneeling in front of the fireplace, a blacking brush in her hand. The girl was about her own age, maybe slightly younger, with blue eyes, a ruddy face, and curly brown hair. She looked somehow familiar.

"Oh, it was nothing," Mary said. "What is your name?"

"I'm 'Lizabeth Ellen," the girl said, standing up, "'Lizabeth Ellen Sowerby."

So that was why the girl looked familiar! Mary had never seen her before, but she had Dickon's eyes and Martha's hair and the same ruddy complexion as both of them.

"I remember you; Martha would always talk about you," Mary said.

The girl grinned, and smiling, her mouth looked like Dickon's. "Martha'd tell us all stories about tha as well, miss, if tha doesn't mind me sayin'."

"Of course I don't," Mary said, going to the mirror to survey herself. "How is Martha? I haven't been here in years."

"Martha married near four year' ago, an' she's got two babies now, an' another on th' way," 'Lizabeth Ellen informed her.

"Gracious!" said Mary, sticking herself with a hairpin. "I had no idea! Is Dickon married as well?"

"No miss, he still lives with us, but he's head gardener now here at Misselthwaite."

"Gracious!" said Mary again, feeling inexplicably nervous at the prospect of seeing Dickon again. "You know, I think I'll change my dress."

She went to her trunk, opened it, and was immediately confronted with a problem: she was wearing the only black dress she had, and technically it wasn't even hers. She considered several dresses before finally settling on a navy one: it was obviously blue, but it was hopefully dark enough not to seem disrespectful.

"Do you think they'll mind if I wear blue?" she asked 'Lizabeth Ellen, to make sure.

"Dr. Craven might, but he'll be the only one," 'Lizabeth Ellen said. "Tha should wear it, Miss Lennox."

"I will," Mary decided. "Uncle Archie didn't like black, anyway – he threw away all my mourning clothes when I came to live here and made me wear white." She smiled slightly, and 'Lizabeth Ellen laughed.

"Eh! He was a good man, was Mr. Craven. I don' think they'd hold with tha wearin' white, though, miss."

"No, I don't think they would," Mary agreed, already unbuttoning Cecelia's black dress. As she changed clothes, she couldn't help but think of her ten-year-old self, newly arrived from India and not knowing even how to put on a shoe. She had certainly come a long way!

When she was sufficiently "freshened up," Mary went to join Colin in the dining room. He was surprisingly not there, so Mary sat down to wait for him. He appeared a few minutes later with Dr. Craven, and the two of them joined Mary as 'Lizabeth Ellen and another girl brought out their dinner.

"Let me offer my condolences to both of you," Dr. Craven said as they began to eat. "Your father was a good man, Colin…and your Uncle, Mary."

"And your brother," Colin added.

"Yes; such a pity I was not here when it happened," Dr. Craven said. "By the time I arrived it was too late. Still, the servants assure me it was quick."

Mary set down her fork. She felt faintly sick.

"He was in the library, reading – the Bible, I believe – when it happened."

Colin was very white. "Uncle – "

"That's where he's laid out now, the library," Dr. Craven said. "You should see him – " he half-rose.

"Perhaps – perhaps after dinner, Uncle," Colin said.

But neither Colin nor Mary ate another bite. Dr. Craven, however, ate a good deal, so it was nearly half an hour later that he led the cousins to the library.

Mary took Colin's hand as Dr. Craven opened the door. A coffin was open on a table in front of a large window. Sunlight shone through, enveloping the coffin in an almost holy glow.

As they approached the coffin, Colin gripped Mary's hand so tightly it hurt, but she was squeezing his nearly as much and didn't notice.

The body in the coffin was undeniably Archibald Craven: it had the same dark hair streaked with white, the same thin frame, the same crooked shoulders. But the expression on the face was nothing like Archibald Craven had worn in life. Uncle Archie's face was usually arranged in a thoughtful expression, which occasionally lit up with a smile. Mary had even seen him miserable, before the garden. But the face in the coffin was perfectly blank, devoid of any expression at all. It was at once both better and worse than it would have been if it had looked like Uncle Archie.

Mary heard a strangled noise next to her and realized that Colin was trying hard not to cry. Dr. Craven was watching them both closely, so Mary made sure he saw her burst into tears before she turned to Colin. Better he think Colin was the one giving comfort.

Dr. Craven left the cousins after a minute or so of Mary crying, finally showing a smidgen of tact.

"He's gone," Mary whispered as she heard the door close. "He's gone, Colin."

Colin held Mary tighter. She could feel his body shaking against her, wracked with sobs.

"Sh," she murmured through her own tears, stroking Colin's back. "Sh. He's not there; that's not Uncle Archie. He's in Heaven now. He's with your mother. He's happy."

When Colin finally quieted, he turned away from Mary, not letting her see his face. How he expected her to think he hadn't been crying, she didn't know, but she thoughtfully wiped her own eyes instead of watching Colin wipe his.

When he turned back to face her he looked quite composed again, if paler and redder-eyed than usual.

"I've gotten your jacket all wet," Mary said.

Colin looked down. "It's all right."

They looked once more into the coffin, then Colin took Mary's hand and led her out of the room. Dr. Craven was waiting for them in the hall.

"Colin, if you could come with me, there are some things we need to discuss about the funeral," he said. "Some family matters," he added pointedly when Mary made to join them.

Hurt, Mary returned to her room. She knew that she was not related to Uncle Archie by blood – his wife had been her father's sister – but he was her uncle, and for seven years, her guardian.

'Lizabeth Ellen was missing, so Mary did what seemed only natural: she put on her coat and headed for the gardens.


	3. In the Garden

**Forever and Ever and Ever**

**Chapter Three: In the Garden**

The gardens were gray and bare, and Mary found herself wishing desperately that it were spring. A few snowdrops were beginning to bloom and Mary could see the beginnings of crocuses, though, so the gardens weren't all dead.

Out of habit, Mary took the long way to the secret garden. Her legs itched for a skipping rope, and she was half-looking for the robin. It must have died by now, she realized. Robins surely didn't live seven years, even magic ones.

The ivy was thick and covered the door, but Mary knew exactly where to push it aside. Feeling the same exciting trepidation she had the first time she unlocked it, Mary pushed open the door and stepped into the garden.

It was still beautiful, even in the last gasps of winter. The gardeners had left the garden wild, instead of arranging it in neat little boxes like the other gardens. Bare vines of climbing roses ran over everything, making arches between the trees. As if in a dream, Mary made her way along the perimeter of the garden, memories she had not thought of in years rushing through her mind: Dickon charming the animals; Colin's "Scientific Experiment;" Uncle Archie's face when Colin ran to greet him.

"Miss? Is tha all right?"

Mary looked around, startled. She had not realized anyone else was in the garden, but a young man was kneeling next to a rose-bush, weeding. He stood up and started towards her, looking concerned, and Mary recognized him.

"Dickon!"

Unlike Colin, Dickon had grown into his features. His round blue eyes and wide mouth no longer looked awkward, but rather attractive. His hair was longer than it had been when Mary had seen him last – five years ago! – and he had grown tall, although not as tall as Colin. He was also very handsome.

Dickon stopped in his tracks, a crease between his eyes. "I'm sorry, miss, but I don't believe I know thee."

"Don't you remember me, Dickon? It's me, Mary Lennox."

Dickon's mouth dropped open in surprise, and he laughed. "Eh! Tha's surely changed!"

"So have you!" Mary said, smiling at him. It was wonderful to seen him again! "'Lizabeth Ellen told me you're head gardener!"

Dickon flushed and scuffed his shoe. "Mr. Roach put in a good word for me when he left two year' ago."

"Is Ben Weatherstaff still here?" Mary asked. 

"No, his rheumatics got so bad last year, he had to leave."

"Is he all right?" Mary asked worriedly.

"Eh, he's old, is all. He's living with his niece in Thwaite Village now."

"And Martha's married! Gracious, everything has changed here!"

"The garden's the same," Dickon said, gesturing around.

"You're right," Mary said. "The garden is the same." Abruptly she knelt down next to the rosebush and began to pull out a weed.

"Miss Lennox! Tha shouldn't be kneeling in the mud, tha'll ruin thy dress!"

"I don't care," Mary said, uprooting the weed. "I hate this dress, anyway. I hate dark colors."

"Still, miss, tha shouldn't – "

Mary sat back on her heels and stared at Dickon. "I'm the one who found the garden, aren't I? The robin showed it to _me_. I think I have as much of a right as anyone to weed here."

Dickon knelt next to her and took hold of another weed. "I reckon tha's not as changed as I thought," he said, laughing. "Tha'art exactly the same."

"I'm not," said Mary, thinking of London and Cecelia and Mrs. Bell. "I think it's the Magic."

Dickon nodded seriously. "Th' Magic's never stopped here."

"I can tell," Mary said, looking around the garden. "I've missed Misselthwaite." Suddenly, inexplicably, for the second time that day, she began to cry.

"Eh, Mistress Mary!" Dickon said, sounding lost. And well he should – she wasn't a child anymore who could be petted and murmured to like an orphaned lamb. Or if she were, Dickon certainly couldn't be the one to pet and murmur.

He dug in his pocket and offered her a grubby handkerchief. Mary hiccupped and took it, feeling embarrassed. Whatever urge had caused her to burst into tears had passed, and she was suddenly self-conscious of the tears on her cheeks and the snot under her nose. She wiped her face gingerly.

"I _am_ sorry, Dickon," she said, handing him the handkerchief. "I've been such a mess these past few days."

"Eh, tha's a right to be," Dickon said, still looking at her. "Mr. Craven was a good man, an' he was like a father to thee."

Mary turned back to her weeding, lest she start to cry again. After a while she spoke.

"In India, I lost my mother and my father and my Ayah – everyone I had ever known – all at once. But this is worse than that."

"That's because Mr. Craven loved thee, an' tha loved him," Dickon said simply. She could feel his eyes on her. "Tha was like a daughter to him."

"Yes," Mary said blankly. "Yes, I was, wasn't I."

"Tha was," Dickon said decisively, and went back to weeding. They worked together for what must have been hours, for it was growing dark when Dickon stood and told Mary that she'd "best return to th' house."

"Will you walk with me?" Mary asked quietly. She didn't want to go back to the house, to Dr. Craven and Mrs. Medlock, and Uncle Archie lying dead in the library. She wanted Colin to join her and Dickon in the garden, and they could stay there together until things got better.

"Of course, Miss Lennox, if tha wants me to."

As soon as she closed the garden door behind her, Marybecame aware of how messy she was. Her dress was, as Dickon had warned, covered in mud; her face was red from the cold; and she had dirt under her fingernails. Mrs. Medlock would not be happy.

Dickon left her once they reached the manor, saying he needed to return a wheelbarrow to its shed. _He's right_, Mary thought: being seen with him would only make things worse. Steeling herself, she opened the side door and prepared to be scolded.

Luckily, it was 'Lizabeth Ellen who saw her first, on the staircase that led to Mary's room.

"Mr. Craven sent me to fetch thee for supper," 'Lizabeth Ellen whispered, her eyes wide. "Where on earth has tha been?"

"In the gardens," Mary whispered back. "Tell them – tell them I had just woken up and that I will be there in ten minutes."

"Yes, Miss Lennox," 'Lizabeth Ellen said, and hurried back down the stairs with a look that Mary had often seen on Martha's face – Mary hadn't heard the last of this.


	4. Discussions

Forever And Ever And Ever

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**Chapter Four: Discussions**

"I apologize for my lateness," Mary said as she joined Colin and Dr. Craven at the dinner table. "I think I must have fallen asleep."

"Of course, my dear, you are forgiven. You have had a very stressful day," said Dr. Craven sympathetically. Mary fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him: he sounded so fake!

"Indeed," she murmured instead, carefully avoiding looking at 'Lizabeth Ellen as she brought out a platter.

"Mary, Uncle and I were discussing arrangements for the funeral," Colin told her, pushing the food around on his plate. "It will be on Friday, in order to allow some time for Father's business friends to travel here."

Mary nodded, staring at her own plate. Dr. Craven took a long drink of wine and turned to stare at Mary. "We were wondering, my dear – "

" – _you_ were wondering," cut in Colin.

"- if you would want to join us in the first row as part of Archibald's family, or if you would rather sit with his friends."

Mary met his eyes in astonishment. "Why, with the family, of course! He was my guardian – he raised me – "

"That's what I told him, Mary," Colin said, shooting a dark look at his uncle. "But he seemed to think that as you are not technically a Craven, you should not be counted as one."

"That's not it at all, my dear, I only wanted to be sure of your wishes," Dr. Craven said smoothly. "I was wondering, also, if you might help Mrs. Medlock with the household arrangements."

Colin dropped his fork; it clattered loudly against his plate. Mary understood his anger, for she herself was fuming: first Dr. Craven tries to deny her a place in the family, then expects her to plan the funeral? Mary took a deep breath and thought of the garden.

"I will," Mary said. "For Uncle Archie." _Not for you. _She heard a muffled snicker and glanced up to see 'Lizabeth Ellen fleeing to the kitchen.

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, as Mary and Colin were disinclined to make small talk with Dr. Craven. After supper, Dr. Craven summoned Colin away for more talk of "family matters" and Mary returned to her room to deal with 'Lizabeth Ellen.

Sure enough, the maid was waiting for Mary under the guise of cleaning windows. As soon as Mary shut the door behind her, 'Lizabeth Ellen put down her rag and turned to face her. She looked worried.

"Miss Lennox, I lied for thee tonight, but I canna do it again, I'd lose my place."

"I'm sorry," Mary said, feeling a pang of regret. She hadn't thought of the risk for 'Lizabeth Ellen.

The maid's hostile behavior melted away. "Eh, that's all right, Miss Lennox; I understand why tha wouldna want to tell them. Tha was with Dickon, was tha not?"

For some strange reason, Mary blushed. "I was," she confirmed. "We were in the garden."

'Lizabeth Ellen looked at her carefully. "Mother warned me to keep an eye on the two of thee," she said.

Mary flushed brighter, but she said, "We were only gardening. And talking."

'Lizabeth Ellen looked at her. Mary felt obliged to explain, "Dickon was a very dear friend of mine when I was younger."

"I know," said 'Lizabeth Ellen, turning back to the spotless window. "Miss Lennox, it's not my place, but I'm asking tha: Please be careful with my brother. He's not like other folk."

"I know," said Mary softly, thinking of the first time she had seen Dickon: he had been playing his pipe under a tree, surrounded by animals. She had thought he was some sort of angel. "I would never hurt Dickon."

"That's what I'm afraid of," 'Lizabeth Ellen mumbled, but she left the room before Mary could respond.

Utterly confused, Mary undressed and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

Mary was kept very busy the next few days with preparations for the funeral. Mrs. Medlock, although unchanged, acknowledged that Mary had and let her make many of the decisions regarding the funeral, and although the two often argued, they always came to some sort of compromise. Mary and Mrs. Medlock were in charge of the social aspects of the funeral – who to notify, where to seat people, what rooms to put them in – while Colin and Dr. Craven controlled the legal and financial aspects – the obituary, the headstone, the funeral service, the inheritance.

Uncle Archie's lawyer, a Mr. Livingstone, arrived at Misselthwaite on Wednesday to deliver and explain the will. Upon his arrival, the first thing he did was to gather Dr. Craven, Colin, and Mary in the parlor for a reading of the will. Mary was gratified to see that Mr. Livingstone, at least, considered her part of the Craven family. She sat next to Colin on a sofa, while Dr. Craven and Mr. Livingstone took armchairs. Mr. Livingstone withdrew a folded paper from his briefcase, slid his glasses further down his nose, cleared his throat, and began to read.

The will was very short, as there was only one beneficiary: Colin was to inherit everything, with two provisions: that he not sell Misselthwaite Manor, and that Miss Mary Lennox be provided for until such time as she chose to marry.

"Mary, you now have access to your own inheritance, as well," Mr. Livingstone reminded her. Mary nodded. She had known, of course, that she had inherited money when her parents died, but she had not thought of it in years.

Colin touched Mary's hand and nodded slightly in Dr. Craven's direction. The doctor looked very pale and nervous, and Mary realized that he had not been included in the will.

"Are – are you sure that's all?" Dr. Craven asked, sounding shaken. Mary would have felt sorry for him had he not been so horrible the past few days.

"Yes, that is all," Mr. Livingstone said, withdrawing another paper from his briefcase. "Now, if I could speak to young Mr. Craven alone…"

* * *

Later that day, Colin interrupted Mary and Mrs. Medlock's planning in order to speak with his cousin. Colin looked very serious when he ordered Mrs. Medlock out of the room, so Mary was very surprised when, once they were alone, he began to laugh. She was quite worried until Colin gasped out, "Nothing! He got nothing!"

Mary began to smile. "Uncle Archie must have heard the rumors about him wanting your inheritance."

"I bet right now he's wishing that I'd died," Colin said, still laughing. "He never stopped wishing."

"And see what comes of it," Mary said, beginning to laugh herself. "This is exactly what he was afraid of – you, young and healthy and with Misselthwaite all to yourself."

"Serves him right, "Colin said, looking for an instance like a young rajah again. "He will never get anything – I made up my own will with Mr. Livingstone this afternoon."

"You didn't!" Mary gasped, laughing. "Did you tell him?"

"No," Colin said, "but I did make some rather choice comments about how fortunate it was that I fully recovered from my childhood sickness."

Mary shook her head, smiling. "Rajah."

Colin's smile faded slightly and he turned to face Mary. "I do wish Father was here to laugh with us," he said quietly.

"Oh, Colin." Mary hugged her cousin briefly. "Two more days and this will all be over."

"I know," Colin said, going over to look out the window. "Still, I don't want Friday to ever come."


	5. The Funeral

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**Chapter Five: The Funeral**

Friday came, and quicker than Mary would have liked. She awoke feeling as if the weight of the world had settled itself on her shoulders overnight. Reluctantly, she changed into her black dress, one of Aunt Lilias's that Mary had agreed to let Mrs. Medlock take in, and prepared herself for the funeral. She looked ten years old again, Mary decided as she looked in the mirror, pale and sad and scared.

There were businessmen and unknown "old friends" to meet and condolences to accept, and the pastor to speak to, so that in what seemed like no time at all it was time for Mary, Colin, and Dr. Craven to make their way to the front pew of the church.

Mary gripped Colin's hand tightly as they entered the small village cathedral, already full of Mr. Craven's business friends and – this was one argument Mary was glad she had won – many of the Thwaite villagers. Out of her periphery, she could see Ben Weatherstaff and all fourteen Sowerby's, sitting away from the other guests in the last pew.

The pastor's words sounded nothing like Mary's Uncle Archie. "Dutiful father," "loyal citizen" – there was no mention of the man who had laughed and ran with his children in the garden; of the man who had been so deeply in love with Lilias Lennox that he had secluded himself for ten years of mourning; of the man who, 'Lizabeth Ellen had told her last night, once gave a half-crown to the ten youngest Sowerby children.

The reality – that they were burying Uncle Archie – did not really sink in until she and Colin followed the pallbearers to the church cemetery. Archibald Craven was to be buried next to his wife, and a deep, deep hole gaped out of the ground, next to a bare rosebush and a large white stone.

The coffin made a hollow thump as it hit the bottom.

For an instant Mary couldn't breathe, and then all she could do was take loud, gasping sobs. Dr. Craven looked at her disapprovingly, but Colin drew her gently against him and stroked her hair. She could feel him trembling against her and knew that he was trying desperately not to cry, himself.

She stayed like that, safe inside Colin's arms, until his hand rested against her back and she heard him say quietly, "They're all gone, Mary. We're alone now."

She let go of Colin and slowly stepped away. His jacket was drenched; she must look a mess.

Colin went and stood next to the grave, looking down into the hole. After a moment, he carefully broke off a branch of the bare rosebush and dropped it in the grave.

"Let's go," he said, turning away from the grave.

* * *

Back at Misselthwaite Manor, there were more people to talk to and more condolences to accept, but the only ones Mary cared for were those of 'Lizabeth Ellen and the young villagers that Mrs. Medlock had hired to wait on the businessmen. While they could not speak to her out of propriety, they made their sentiments known in wide-eyed glances and too many offerings of food. Mary recognized sets of blue eyes and rusty curls and knew that there were at least three Sowerby's in attendance. She wished she could have spoken to Martha and Mrs. Sowerby and Ben Weatherstaff, but they had not been invited back to the house.

The evening passed in a blur of kindly old businessmen she vaguely recognized, false words from Dr. Craven, sidelong glances from Colin, and the hovering Sowerby children. Over a dozen travelers were staying at Misselthwaite, so 'Lizabeth Ellen was occupied and Mary did not even get to hear a kind word from the maid before she went to bed.

She woke in the middle of the night to an odd sound, like the wind whistling over the moor. She got out of bed and checked her windows, but they were locked tightly. Then she realized: Colin.

Without thinking, Marry pulled on her dressing-gown, slid on her slippers, grabbed a candle and stepped into the hallway. There she paused, realizing: she was not ten years old anymore. She was seventeen and a young lady. She must not, could not, go wandering through the house in the middle of the night and let herself into a young man's bedroom, even if it was Colin and he was crying.

The noise had stopped. Mary hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, then decided: if she could not let herself into Colin's room, she could at least go downstairs and look for him; if she was caught she could say she went to get herself a snack from the kitchens or fetch herself a book from the library.

The library.

If Colin was truly upset and not inclined to go back to sleep, he would go to the library. The library, where until today – yesterday, now – his father's body had lain. The library, where his father had died. Mary closed her door quietly and started down the hallway.

She was half-afraid she would meet 'Lizabeth Ellen or, worse, Mrs. Medlock, but the corridors were deserted. Still, Mary was careful to step as softly as she could and to shield the candle with her hand as she turned corners.

Finally she reached the library. It was pitch dark when she opened the door, but as she lifted her candle she could see a figure sitting by the window, his knees to his chest and his face covered. He did not seem to notice her.

Hesitantly, Mary made her way towards Colin. She set her candle down on the floor and knelt next to him, touching his shoulder gently.

Colin made a strange, garbled noise and threw his arms around her, holding her so tightly it was almost painful. Startled, Mary raised a hand to his head and began to stroke his hair, as he had done for her at the gravesite.

"Sh, Colin. Sh," she said softly.

No response. Mary kept patting his head, hoping desperately for a change. After a moment, she began to murmur a half-remembered song in Hindustani as she rocked with Colin until he fell asleep.

He was heavy and warm and lying almost entirely on top of her. She couldn't stay like this, but neither could she leave Colin on the floor for Mrs. Medlock or Pitcher or, worst of all, Dr. Craven to find. She laid him down on the floor and shook his shoulder gently. "Colin."

His eyes opened almost at once. "Mary? What are you doing here?" he whispered hoarsely, sitting up.

Marry furrowed her brow in concern. Did he not remember? "I heard you crying and went to find you," she whispered. "I sang you to sleep."

Even in the dark, Mary could tell that Colin was blushing fiercely. "You shouldn't have done it," he whispered harshly. "You should have stayed in bed."

"I know," Mary murmured. "But I couldn't." She stood up. "I'm going back to my room. Will you be all right?"

"I'm fine," Colin said crossly, standing as well. "I'll wait till you leave." He didn't look likely to hug her, so Mary stood on tiptoe to give Colin a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving the library.

Luckily the corridors were still deserted, and Mary made it back to her room unnoticed. Feeling oddly nervous, she climbed into her bed to wait for morning.

* * *

All the businessmen left the next day – none of them were close to Mary or Colin, or had even met them more than twice – as did Mr. Craven. Mary wanted to whisper some scathing comment about that to Colin, but he had not spoken to her all day, other than to say "Good morning." He was avoiding her eyes as well, and Mary recognized the pale, drawn look and clenched jaw Colin always had when he was angry. As soon as Dr. Craven left, Colin disappeared with Pitcher, and Mary went out to the gardens.


	6. Magic

Forever And Ever And Ever

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**Chapter Six: Magic**

Dickon was in the secret garden, as Mary had hoped he would be. Without a word, she knelt next to him and began weeding. Thankfully, he did not protest this time.

"Good morning, Miss Lennox," he said only.

"Good morning, Dickon. Can't you call me Mary?" she asked abruptly.

Dickon looked at her guardedly. "I never called thee that, miss, except maybe for once or twice when us was younger and I forgot."

He was right, Mary realized with a jolt. Even as children he had called her "Miss Mary." Had she never asked him to call her anything different?

"Besides, Miss Lennox, I work for thee now. It wouldn't be proper," Dickon continued.

"Couldn't you call me 'Mary,' though, just in here? Or 'Miss Mary,' even?" Mary pressed. She didn't know why it mattered so, really. "It feels like I don't know you when you call me 'Miss Lennox.'"

Dickon looked at her until she felt uncomfortable.

"If tha wants, I'll call thee 'Miss Mary,' but only in the garden," he said finally.

"Thank you, Dickon!" Mary said, feeling happier over it than she should have. She returned to weeding with renewed vigor.

"I haven't gardened in years," she admitted, dislodging a particularly stubborn weed. "There are no gardens in London – well, there are none at my school, anyway."

"It sounds terrible dreary," Dickon said hesitantly.

"Oh, it's quite nice most of the time," Mary said, thinking of Cecelia and the other girls at Bradford's. "But I do wish there was a garden."

Dickon made no reply, and they gardened in silence for what must have been hours, until Dickon set down his spade and stood up. "I'm going to eat now, Miss Mary. Tha can join me, if tha wants."

"Why, thank you, Dickon." She rose and followed him to the tree under which Colin had conducted his "Scientific Experiment." She mentioned as much as Dickon was handing her a bit of bread, and he laughed.

"Eh! Of course I remember," he said, smiling his familiar wide smile. "'E was like a little lord then, was Mester Colin. An' when Ben Weatherstaff looked over th' wall!"

Mary smiled, herself, remembering. "Colin was so angry he stood!"

"Those was some good days in th' garden, wasn't they?" Dickon asked.

"Some of the best of my life," said Mary. "It was such a secret to keep! I'm afraid Colin and I weren't very good at it, though – I remember everyone seemed so suspicious of us."

Dickon laughed. "Tha two was terrible! Tha could not stop eating, but Mester Colin was still pretending to be a cripple!"

Mary was laughing, too, realizing how ridiculous she and Colin had been as children. "It was fortunate that your mother is as kind as she is! I don't know how we would have managed without the food she sent. How is your mother, by the way? I haven't heard much about her, which seems unusual."

"Mother's still the same as ever, like th' garden," said Dickon. "She saw thee yesterday, an' said tha'd grown up to be pretty as a blush-rose."

Mary made like the comparison and blushed. Dickon was looking at her strangely.

"That was very kind of her to say," Mary said carefully.

"Eh, it's not kindness, Miss Mary, it's th' truth," Dickon said, ducking his head.

Mary, if it was possible, blushed even brighter. "Why, thank you, Dickon."

Dickon mumbled something unintelligible. Mary decided to change the subject. "I saw Martha and her children at the service yesterday, goodness but they're big! What are their names?"

They spent the rest of the afternoon busily gardening and reminiscing. Although the hours passed happily, Mary was aware of the thick societal line between them, allowing her to call Dickon by his first name but requiring an honorific be placed before hers; that allowed Dickon to call her pretty but forbid her to call her handsome. Still, with the soil between her ungloved fingers and the sun shining warm on her back and Dickon calling her "Miss Mary," it was almost like she was ten again.

Mary made sure to return to the house well before dark in order to have time to clean up before dinner, but 'Lizabeth Ellen informed her that Colin had gone to the village with Pitcher in order to "see about some matters." Mary felt a flash of annoyance – Colin was purposely avoiding her! – but quickly pushed it aside. She would let nothing spoil her lovely afternoon.

Mary had intended to spend the next morning with Colin, planning their return to London, but it had rained the night before and now the sun was so bright and the sky was so blue that she just had to go to the garden. She fairly ran along the paths, breathing in the pure moor air as deeply as she could.

She did not see Dickon in the garden – it was early yet – so she twirled around in the sunlight and impulsively knelt down and kissed a cluster of crocuses. She heard a low laugh and looked up, startled. It was Dickon. She blushed brightly and stood up. "Dickon, I didn't see you there!"

"Eh, Miss Mary, don't feel 'shamed. Tha looked like a child again, like tha did the first mornin' when things started to grow."

Mary was surprised he remembered. "Oh, let's look!" she said, caught up in some half-remembered ecstasy. "Let's look and see what's growing!"

Impulsively, she grabbed Dickon's hand and pulled him over to the garden wall. "Look, the roses are starting to grow, I'm sure they are!"

"Aye, they're wick as can be," Dickon said, catching some of Mary's fervor. "An' here, look at these daffydowndilly's!"

Laughing and running like children, they explored the garden, touching the plants and the trees and the earth. Dickon even urged Mary to smell the soil, and she did, and it smelled like spring and childhood.

"Oh, Dickon, look!" Mary said, later, in a whisper. "Look! A robin, a robin building its nest!"

She remembered, vaguely, him discovering one that first morning, and was glad that she was the one who had seen it this time.

"We munnot look at it," Dickon said in a hushed voice, turning to face her. His eyes were like pieces of sky. "We munnot scare him."

Mary was never sure if it was she or Dickon who started it, but a second later, before she knew what was happening, his lips touched hers, and they were kissing.

They were kissing.

Mary closed her eyes. Dickon's lips were rough and warm and fit perfectly against hers. Instinctively, she put her hands behind his neck. In response, Dickon placed his hands on her back and pressed his lips harder against hers. Mary felt his warm tongue touch her lips and opened her mouth slightly, feeling a thrill of excitement.

And then, suddenly, Dickon's hands left her back and grasped her shoulders, pushing her back. Mary opened her eyes to see Dickon, pale and frightened and standing five feet away from her.

"Miss Mary," he said, his voice trembling. "We cannot – we munnot – "

"Why, Dickon?" Mary pleaded.

Dickon only looked at her, his eyes as wide and scared as a frightened animal's, and ran out of the garden.

Mary sank to the ground, feeling tears well up in her eyes. The Magic was broken, or else there was no Magic.


	7. Outside the Garden

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**Chapter Seven: Outside the Garden**

Mary sat there for she didn't know how long, until she felt a hand tugging at her sleeve and heard a voice calling her name.

"Miss Lennox! Miss Mary! Mary!"

She looked up, startled, to see 'Lizabeth Ellen bending over her in concern. She was holding a lantern; it was dark. It was also raining, Mary realized as she felt a fat drop hit her forehead. She was drenched; how long had she been out here?

"Tha's been gone all day, Miss Mary," 'Lizabeth Ellen said, seeming to read her mind.

"Have they missed me?" Mary asked, accepting 'Lizabeth Ellen's hand up.

"No, miss; tha cousin ate in his room tonight. Now hurry up and come in, tha'll catch thy death of cold."

Mary followed 'Lizabeth Ellen in silence as they dashed and darted through the house, successfully avoiding the other servants.

"Now, why was tha sittin' out there in the rain, all by thysel'?" 'Lizabeth Ellen asked, half-scolding, once they were in Mary's room and she had seen Mary safely washed, dressed, and wrapped in blankets.

To her amazement, Mary felt hot tears on her cheeks. "I kissed Dickon," she admitted, "or he kissed me. I don't know." She began to cry in earnest.

"Eh-h-h," 'Lizabeth Ellen said, drawing out the syllable just like Dickon did. Without asking for permission she kicked off her shoes and sat next to Mary on the bed, placing an arm around her. Mary was reminded of Cece, though her elegant boarding-school friend had nothing in common with this curly-haired housemaid.

"I think I love him," Mary confessed through her tears.

"Eh-h-h," 'Lizabeth Ellen said again, stroking Mary's back. Eventually Mary stopped crying, and 'Lizabeth Ellen withdrew her arm.

"Mother warned me to look out for the two o' thee," 'Lizabeth Ellen said. "'Miss Mary'll be comin' back to Misselthwaite Manor, 'Lizabeth Ellen,' she says, 'an' I reckon she'll be a right pretty young thing. Our Dickon always had a soft spot for Miss Mary, so tha must watch out for the two o' them, or they'll be fallin' in love and there'll be heartbreak all 'round, poor things.'"

"She was right," Mary said honestly. "I do love Dickon." It felt strange to say it, but it was terribly, honestly true.

'Lizabeth Ellen did not gasp in horror or scold her, as she expected, but said, "Miss Mary, o' course tha loves Dickon. He was the first real friend tha had, an' he's the best lad i' Yorkshire, maybe in all o' England."

Mary nodded to show she was listening.

"Tha loves Dickon, Miss Mary, but tha cannot be with him. The two of thee's too different."

"I don't care," Mary said obstinately.

"But tha will," 'Lizabeth Ellen said. "'A fish may love a bird, but where would they live?' is what Mother says. Tha couldn't stay here, Miss, if people knew – the two o' thee'd have no friends, an' Dickon'd have no work."

"We could leave," Mary said. "We could go to America – it wouldn't matter there."

'Lizabeth Ellen was shaking her head. "Could tha really ask Dickon to leave th' moor?" she asked.

Mary shook her head, defeated. "No," she admitted in a small voice.

"See, then, miss? Tha can't be with Dickon."

"But I love him!" Mary protested.

"Eh, Miss, but love's not enough for love to keep. Tha mun be able to take care of th' other, to fight with th' other and to make up, to comfort th' other when th' other's sad. Tha couldn't marry Dickon because he'd always see thee as a lady and tha'd always see him as an angel. Tha mun marry someone tha can be with forever and ever and ever."

Forever and ever and ever, Mary seemed to hear Colin proclaim as Dickon wheeled him around the garden. I shall live forever and ever. Well, she would love Dickon forever and ever and ever. "I still love him," Mary said petulantly. "You can't talk me out of it."

"I know, miss, an' I'm not tryin' to," 'Lizabeth Ellen said patiently. "I'm only tryin' to make thee see sense." She paused for a moment, apparently gathering her thoughts.

"When I was a little lass," she said finally, "'bout five or six years old, I took a fancy to one o' the fox cubs Dickon brought home. Red, its name was. It'd lost its mother, an' Dickon let me help him raise it. Well, the time came when Red'd grown up an' was ready to go back to th' moor. But I wouldn't let Dickon take him back. I cried an' cried an' wouldn't let go of Red, no matter how much he squirmed. Then Dickon says to me, all serious like, he says, ''Lizabeth Ellen, this is th' hardest part o' takin' in wild things. Tha' falls in love with them, but they belongs on th' moor an' it'd be a cruelty to make them stay here.'

"'But I loves it,' I says to him, cryin', just like thee, Miss Mary. 'If tha loves it,' Dickon says, 'tha mun let it go.'"

'Lizabeth Ellen stopped. Mary closed her eyes, rocking slightly. She couldn't do it. She couldn't.

"Dickon could never be happy with thee," 'Lizabeth Ellen said solemnly. "He belongs on the moor."

"I could go to the moor," Mary ventured, but 'Lizabeth Ellen shook her head.

"Tha couldn't. Tha's a lady. Tha might love th' moor, but tha couldn't live there. Tha couldn't raise children there."

Twelve children on fourteen shillings a week, Mary seemed to hear Martha say. She had her inheritance, but would she be allowed to use it if she married Dickon? Would Dickon be content to live without working himself?

Wordlessly she shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes. "But I don't want to, 'Lizabeth Ellen. I don't want to let him go."

"Eh-h-h, I know," 'Lizabeth Ellen soothed, rocking Mary against her. "But tha mun. Tha mun."


	8. We Mun Let Go

Forever And Ever And Ever

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**Chapter Eight: "We Mun Let Go"**

Mary slept only fitfully that night and awoke before the sun. Prolonging the moment would only make it wore, so Mary got out of bed, washed, and dressed. She decided to wear her dark green dress. She would have chosen white or pink if she could, but she had brought only morning clothes.

Mary had not expected anyone else to be up, and for the most part the house was dark and deserted, but as she made her way to the entrance to the gardens she saw the library door open and Colin emerge, looking tired.

He stopped and stared at her. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

He did not ask her what she was doing, nor did she ask him.

"Let us return to London tomorrow," Colin said abruptly. "I'm ready for all this to be over."

Mary nodded, though she felt a pang at the thought of leaving Misselthwaite. It would be better, though, she told herself, not to see Dickon.

"We'll come back," Colin said, seeming to understand some part of what she was feeling. "In the summer. We'll come back."

"I'd like that," Mary said, smiling at him. He smiled back, almost shyly.

"Shall we breakfast together?" Colin asked.

Mary half-wanted to, but she shook her head. "There's something I need to do first."

Colin looked at her questioningly but said nothing about it. "I'll wait for you, then, shall I?"

"All right," Mary agreed. They nodded politely to each other and Mary continued down the corridor and out of the house.

She walked through the gardens in a daze, thinking of all the happy moments she had spent along these same paths, most of them with Dickon. She did not hesitate at the entrance to the secret garden, but instead opened the door and stepped inside with a sort of strange resolve.

Dickon was there, weeding. She had half-thought he would not be, after the way he ran yesterday.

He stood up as Mary shut the door and turned to face her.

"Miss Lennox."

He was as polite and reserved as he had been that first day, but his cheeks were redder than usual and Mary knew that he too was remembering how that kiss had felt.

"Dickon." Mary was tempted to start weeding, as if nothing had happened yesterday but knew she could not. "I had a talk with 'Lizabeth Ellen."

Dickon nodded, looking at her guardedly.

"She said that you and I could never be together," Mary said. She could hear her voice trembling but pressed on. "She said that we were too different to make each other happy for long. She said that you belonged on that moor and that I belonged in a house."

She took a deep breath. Dickon was still listening, a guarded expression on his face.

"And she's right," Mary continued. "She's right. Even though I love you, I have to let you go."

She stopped, waiting. Her legs were trembling terribly.

Dickon's guard fell away and he took a few steps toward her. He was close enough to touch.

"Eh-h-h, Miss Mary, tha's right. Even though I love thee too."

Mary sniffled – she would not cry! – and stepped closer to Dickon and hugged him. This would be the last time, she knew, so she did her best to memorize the feel of his strong arms around her, his warm chest against her, his rough country clothes against her cheek.

"That sounds ridiculous with you calling me 'Miss Mary,'" Mary said quietly.

Dickon laughed softly. "I love thee, Mary," he said.

Mary pressed herself tighter against Dickon, willing herself to keep from crying. To hear that, to be so close to him, and to know that in only a few minutes, it would all be over!

Dickon held her tightly for a moment, then loosened his arms. "We mun let go, Miss Mary," he said softly. "We mun let go."

Mary took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stepped backwards, away from Dickon. She could do this.

She opened her eyes. "I'm leaving for London tomorrow," she said. Dickon nodded in understanding.

"But I'm coming back in summer," Mary continued. "And when I come back, I hope, Dickon, that we can be friends." She held out her hand, and Dickon took it.

"We've always been friends, Miss Mary," he said. "But tha's right. We'll be proper friends then."

Mary nodded, not trusting her voice. Dickon let go of her hand.

They stood looking at each other. Mary felt that she could not be this close to Dickon any longer, now that she had let go; she might grab hold again. She had to leave.

"Goodbye," she said, smiling tremulously. Dickon nodded, turning back to the rosebush.

"Goodbye, Miss Mary. I'll see thee in summer."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry! I know almost everyone wanted a happy Mary/Dickon ending… but this is as close as it's going to get. I just can't see them, realistically, being together...but that doesn't mean that they don't love each other. There's one more chapter left, to tie things all up. I hope everyone's enjoyed reading this, and if you haven't reviewed yet, please do! (And to everyone who's reviewed, thanks a lot, you've been really encouraging!) Another thing: I've been thinking of writing a sequel, about what happens when Mary and Colin come back in the summer. I haven't started it yet but I have a basic plotline in my head…so if anyone would be interested in reading a sequel I'd appreciate your input! Thanks!


	9. Return

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**  
Chapter Nine: Return**

Mary did not cry as she made her way back to the house. Instead she took deep breaths of the moor air, and if the cold of it occasionally caused her eyes to water, it was the cold and nothing else. By the time she closed the side door to Misselthwaite Manor behind her, she was completely composed. She had let go.

Colin was waiting for her in the dining room, and he smiled at her as she sat down. The other night was forgiven, then.

Forgiven, but not forgotten. All through breakfast, Colin was kind and considerate to her, treating her almost as a stranger. He talked openly with her and made her laugh with a story about Pitcher and Ben Weatherstaff, whom they had met in the village the day before, but there was a newfound sort of politeness, of distance, in the way he spoke to her. Still, it was nice in a way. Mary almost did not need 'Lizabeth Ellen's sympathetic looks across the bread-basket. Almost.

Mary did not return to the gardens that day, but instead elected to spend it with Colin, exploring the house. She found the portrait of the little girl in green with the parrot, as well as the ivory elephants she remembered, although the mice were long gone; she had a feeling that 'Lizabeth Ellen may have had something to do with that.

Colin once suggested that they go out and see the garden, but Mary deferred. "It's terribly cold out, and I believe it will rain soon. Let's wait until summer, then the garden really will seem like Magic."

Colin agreed readily enough and was soon distracted by a portrait of his father as a very young child. His shoulders were not yet crooked.

That night, 'Lizabeth Ellen helped Mary pack her trunk. Mary and Colin would leave at dawn, stop for Dr. Craven in the village – he was returning to his practice near London and would be their escort, much to the cousins' dismay – and arrive in London late at night. It was with great regret that Mary left the little maid who had helped her so much.

"Tha's been very brave," 'Lizabeth Ellen said before she left Mary for the night. "Tha'll find thy love, Miss, the one tha'll be with forever and ever and ever."

The words hurt terribly, but Mary buried them deep inside and told herself that Dickon was not for her. She could not believe that she could ever love anyone else, but he was not for her. She would hurt him, hurt him whether by her own inconsideration and contrariness or by the reactions of the local people to the unlikely match. She would have to forget Dickon, or at least forget her love for him, and maybe someday, forever would come.

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, that's really the end, I'm sorry if you expected a happy ending…but it does say "Angst"! I'll probably write a sequel, so if you'd be interested in reading it, please tell me in a review. I promise the sequel will have a happier ending, and probably be much longer. And if you've been reading this but haven't yet reviewed, please please please do, even if just to tell me you've been reading. And lastly, THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed this, you've really encouraged me and made this really worthwhile.


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